Ocean of Sand
by Youkai-ChoGonou
Summary: A mission to storm an oasis terrorist compound in Egypt goes awry leaving their Charmer with his cover blown in the heart of the mess. If the enemy doesn't kill him, hypovolemia might.  Not my best plot, but a plot none the less.
1. Chapter 1

CHAOS

Ocean of Sand

_"We are the ODS, last of the old-school spies."_

**AN: I type out phonetic accents. Don't like it? Don't read. On that note, in Scottish accents the letter 't' is often omitted in certain parts of the word. But not entirely. It is given what is called a 'guttural stop'. It's difficult to explain, but the 't' sound is formed as a halted sound in the back of your throat, rather than the sharp sound we know that forms on the tip of your tongue. I indicate this 'guttural stop' with an apostrophe. With that said, this is my first completed CHAOS fanfiction. Enjoy.**

Not only did he not expect to ever find himself traversing a desert oasis in the middle of Egypt, he never would have expected to be traversing a desert oasis in the middle of Egypt for a mission. But really, there was no turning back at this point. Not with the barrel of a primed AK-47 pressed between his shoulder blades, two more at his flanks, and a third heavily armed man leading the way. Generally speaking, he has found himself in worse odds before, but so far, the mission was still green lighted. He had no reason to feel the need to call for backup, not that they would make it in time what with the wide expanse of the desert. It was hard to tail a quintet when there was nothing to hide behind but sand… and more sand save for the small oasis they were rapidly approaching.

"I know ya don' trus' me, bu' was i' really necessary t' cuff me over th' head with th' butt of your gun, there? You could've just as easily told me t' close my eyes and blindfold me." Billy chirped in an uplifting tone that really didn't fit the situation. But that's what Billy did. He quipped about imminent danger, even if it was more imminent than he'd like to admit.

The man to his right barked something in a language he recognized as Arabic, but that didn't mean he knew what the man had said. He simply shrugged and tried not to trip in the loose sand dunes. Yeah, next time Michael asks for volunteers in a desert mission, he'll bite his tongue. Or just swallow a scorpion like Rick. Truthfully, he wouldn't condemn any member of his team to something like this. So, as horrible as it seemed, he'd still volunteer for these missions, time and time again. Glutton for punishment, perhaps?

A sparkle in the distance caught his eye and he realized there was someone up ahead, standing just out of sight, holding up what looked like a mirror. The sun caught off the reflective surface making it flash several times as the person angled it back and forth. Well, if that wasn't a blatantly obvious signal, he didn't know what was. It was almost cliché. However, recognizing it as a signal and realizing what the signal meant were two completely different things. He only hoped it was a means of communication to confirm the group's identity as _friendlies_ so they wouldn't end up with more holes than Swiss cheese before they reached the compound. Of course, that would be too easy.

One of the men flanking the Scot kicked him in the back of the knees, making Billy crash to the sand. With his arms bound behind his back, he was very nearly privileged to tasting the Egyptian sand. Luckily, years in the CIA and MI5 alike have taught him how to balance himself when his hands were tied behind his back and the ground was seemingly shifting under his feet. He felt somewhat like he should earn some kind of points for not eating sand, but that didn't happen. No, as a matter of fact, close to the exact opposite happened.

A knee was planted firmly in the base of his spine, shoving him down into the sand. The man knelt heavily on him with one leg, while he roughly grabbed at Billy's wrists. To his surprise, his bindings were cut and the man lifted the pressure from his back. When he didn't immediately stand on his own, he was shoved rather violently with a heavy boot.

"Stand!" One of the men shouted. "Go!" They ordered, pointing towards the oasis. More specifically, pointing towards the glittering light in the distance. Who was Billy to argue? So, he pushed himself out of the sand, brushed face and clothing off, primping just a bit to draw out some time, and likely test the patience of his captors, before he started his solitary trek.

Said trek took the better part of fifteen minutes. In that time, he was able to scope out the area a bit without looking too suspicious. It was very likely that those four men that brought him this far had orders to retrace their steps and ensure no one was tailing them. It'd give them ample time to shoot him before he even reached the camp. With nowhere to run or hide, Billy would be an easy target standing out against the beige sand in his dark slate grey suit. If certain peril wasn't part of the job description and didn't happen on a weekly basis, he might be right terrified right now. Any moment he could feel a bullet ripping through his body and ending his life. However, he trusted Casey to be discrete. Their very own Human Weapon was very good at what he did and Billy trusted him with his life. If, somehow, the man was spotted slithering through the desert sand like the deadly viper he was, he trusted Casey to take all four men out before they had a chance to end the Scotsman's life. He couldn't dodge bullets, but he could evade being targeted by at least one side long enough for things to turn in their favor.

Despite his confidence in Casey Malick, the blue-eyed charmer released a pent up breath when he crossed into the cover of the compound with three heavily armed guards as his escort. They blindfolded him with a thick black cloth and led him down several corridors. He noted that they virtually backtracked twice to throw him off. Again, this would have been an effective means to disorienting him if he weren't a trained operative.

They stopped at what he could only assume was a closed door after a good five minutes of wandering around. He wondered vaguely if they knew their backtracking and virtual 'wild goose chase' had actually helped him map out the entrance of the compound to the room that they were about to enter. He heard a sliding sound and the click of an electronic lock. Keycard. Things just got slightly more difficult. He felt the slight draft of the door opening before he was shoved inside. They walked him to where he assumed was the center of the room and shoved him into a chair, binding his wrists to the warm metal. Well, that was slightly unnerving. It was so unbearably hot in the compound that even the metal chairs provided little to no relief from the heat.

Billy heard shuffling off to the side and the door shutting. Automatically, the lock slid into place once more. Assess the situation: He was bolted to a chair, locked in what felt like an interrogation room, surrounded by an unknown number of unfriendlies. Just another day in the Office of Disruptive Services.

"Jour name." A smooth voice demanded somewhere in front of Billy. Judging by the volume, the man wasn't more than six feet away from him. Nearly directly in front of him. The accent didn't fit the rest of his colleagues. No, it sounded more of Hispanic origin. It wasn't smooth enough to be an authentic Spanish accent from the motherland of Spain, but with only those two words, it was hard to tell. He sounded very much like the leader of any other drug cartel. For now, it was best to play it safe.

"I do not like repeating myself, Señor." The man's tone was lower, dangerous, this time.

"William McGregor." Billy chirped, happy to supply the information that would match their records the man certainly held in his possession. Records planted for the man to steal, but he didn't know that part. This was the reason Billy was the prime operative for this mission. He had a cloudy past. One that tied up quite well with this mission.

"Jou are a former member of the British Secret Service, sí?" The man pressed. Billy could hear the shuffling of papers as the man before him flipped through what he was pretty sure was the file so graciously provided unbeknownst to him.

"Aye. Tha' would be me. Go' myself int' a wee bi' o' trouble. Didna' agree wi' how the agency deal' wi' cer'ain… issues an' they didna' agree wi' how I did wha' needed t' be done." Billy replied smoothly, thickening his accent for the part. That's who he was. He was the charmer. He could talk himself into and out of just about any situation under the sun. Give him five minutes and a weak mind and he'll have you intrigued. Give him ten and he'll have you enchanted. Give him fifteen and he'll have your blind trust. Unfortunately, in the underworld like this, most minds weren't so easily malleable. So it took a little longer and more calculation.

"So jou killed jour commanding officer and went rogue?" The man asked, but Billy didn't like the tone in his voice. Something was off. So, he did what the ODS did best. He improvised.

"Is tha' wha' they wro'e in th' file?" Billy laughed dryly, rolling his head to pop the vertebrae in his neck. "I didna' kill th' bloke. He go' himself sho'." Really, all he had to do was keep the man distracted. Keep his team focused on carefully watching Billy, rather than paying attention to a pending invasion. His mission was to infiltrate, distract, and stay alive long enough for Casey, Michael, and Rick to take out the automatic defenses and as many guards as they could so the military could move in and storm the base.

"Hm." His captor made a thoughtful sound that Billy didn't quite like. Something was wrong. There was no such thing as 'smooth sailing' when it came to missions like these where you put yourself at the mercy of your enemy for the sake of remaining undercover, but there was a difference between expected turbulence and a storm on the horizon. This felt like the latter.

"Jou see, this file is too perfect. Jou are too perfect." Billy can hear the sound of the file dropping to the desk and being pushed aside. He tries not to jump or stiffen. He has to keep up the façade if he wants to live. So, instead, he feigns annoyance and anger.

"Pearfec'?" Billy bites back, with just enough venom in his tone to sound annoyed, but not enough to sound threatening. "Maybe ya didna' read tha' file very carefully. Or maybe they didna' wan' t' release th' real facts in my file, bu' if I was pearfec', none of thes would be gooin' doown righ' noo." Ok, a Scotsman losing his temper would result in a thickening of his accent. It wasn't typical of Billy himself, because he nearly never lost his temper. And even when he did, he was still cold and calculating. But this man had to believe he was a bit of a screw-up for now. It was all about appearing less threatening. The more the other man thought he was in control, the safer Billy was. If he remained cool, calm, and collected, the other man would feel less in control and feel the need to demonstrate his control. That's where guns and fatalities came in. He did so hate fatalities.

"We did a bit more digging and found that _William McGregor_ was never actually on the payroll despite how well things were set up to appear to the contrary." As the man spoke, Billy felt his jaw setting, lips forming a grim line. He didn't like where this was going at all. Trust the MI5 to make an information plant look suspicious.

"A little more digging and we found a former _William Collins_. An operative who had been deported from his homeland. So, Señor Collins, what else are jou hiding?"

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"I didn't think he'd ever run out of things to talk about." Casey snapped dryly as he ducked behind another dune, giving the quintet some time to get further ahead of him. "But he's mostly quiet. For now." He added, wiping sweat from his brow, an effort that proved futile. It was two million degrees out here in the middle of the desert and he had to wear layers to protect himself from the sun as well as blend in with the sand. He was heavily slathered in his good sunscreen and wore several water canisters hooked to his belt. Just listening to Billy talk over the earwig made him thirsty.

"That's when you should be paying attention the most." Michael's voice carried over the radio.

"Yeah, well, I'm starting to wish he was still unconscious. It was a lot nicer when they knocked him out." Casey paused and shook his head. "You know, I knew he could talk, but he's held a one-sided conversation for almost two hours now. This is nearing the verge of psychological illness. I wonder if he's considered these guys don't even speak English."

"He's passing the time. Billy's one of those people who feels uncomfortable in silence, even if the conversation is one-sided. Or he could just be trying to keep you company." It was Michael's voice again.

Casey unscrewed the cap off one of the bottles of water and brought it to his lips, carefully drawing in a few swallows to moisten his mouth before replacing the cap and hooking it right back to his belt. He heard Billy speak again, something about getting hit over the head, just as Casey had suspected had happened. Following that was the first time he'd heard the guards speak. He picked up the radio again.

"You get that, Martinez?" Casey asked.

"Yeah. He told him to keep moving. Nothing important." The dark haired rookie replied over the radio.

"Sounds like even they're tired of hearing him talk." Casey quipped. "I've pretty much turned him out, and I'm sure Billy knows me well enough to have figured that out. I think that little silence, followed by the slightly useful information on his condition was my signal to pay attention. He's spotted something or has reason to believe I need to stay alert." No sooner did those words leave his lips, than he heard shuffling over the earwig. He tensed and peeked over the dune to see the men shoving Billy into the sand. "We may have trouble."

Casey lifted the binoculars to his eyes and watched carefully until something caught his eye. He tilted the beige tool up and focused them until he brought a man dressed in desert camo with a small mirror into focus. He was signaling the guards holding Billy. The Human Weapon tensed when he saw the man over Billy draw his combat knife. He was a good five minute sprint from Billy's position. Even if he darted now, he wouldn't make it in time to save him if that knife was meant to end his life. He was mere seconds away from trying anyway, when he saw the knife slice through the ropes binding the Scottish operative's wrists. Over the earpiece, he heard the man shout at Billy to continue on, shoving him with his foot.

"All clear, guys. I can see the compound from here. Radio silence from here on unless it's urgent." Casey ducked back behind the dune again and waited patiently. He estimated that walk would take Billy a good fifteen to twenty minutes. He would wait it out then check Billy's status. To his surprise, a voice whispered over the earwig after only three minutes.

"Casey, I don' know if you've been watchin', bu' I think those four guards are headed your way. You know, checkin' t' make sure no one's tailin' 'em back t' the compound. It's probably best if you disappear for a wee bi'. In the mean time, there seem t' be fifteen guards holdin' a perimeter around the exposed walls of the compound. I've already spo'ed three missile silos and two turre' stations. Anti-aircraft functions, all of 'em. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the turre's need t' be manned to be operational. You'll jus' have t' figure out how t' disable the missiles and keep the turre's unmanned."

OoOoO

Billy was thrown unceremoniously into a holding cell. His body hit the ground hard, drawing a groan of pain from the Scotsman. His hands were zip-tied behind his back, making his shoulders ache under the strain, but that was the least of his aches after that rather brutal information gathering session. He couldn't find the energy in him to roll over or sit up, so he just stayed where he'd been dropped, resting his head against the warm stone floor. He hadn't had a single drop of water since he was knocked out at the meeting place in Siwa. The two hour march through the desert didn't help that any. They couldn't get any useful information out of him, and he had a feeling that bribery would be next. That's how these things went. When muscle and fear didn't work, you deprive the captive of something they need, then bribe them with it for information.

He heard the door shut and the automatic lock slid into place. Another groan escaped him before he finally gave in and rolled onto his side and sat up, propping himself against the wall at the back of his cell. He pressed his head against it and eased his head down until the cloth wrapped tightly around his head caught on the stone and finally pulled away from his eyes. The first thing he noted were no windows. Given that and the added distance from the interrogation room, he guessed he was in the far back of the compound which was buried under sand. His eyes darted about the room, looking for cameras or anything that could conceal listening equipment. To his dismay, he spotted two cameras, which may or may not come with microphones.

If he couldn't talk directly to Casey, he had another idea to relay information. He shifted into the corner of his cell, propping his back and shoulder against the walls, brought one knee up to his chest and rested his forehead against it, humming a slow tune. After several moments of humming the tune, he began introducing words. Foreign words. They were French. He muttered them, as if he'd forgotten the words to the song he was singing, and only knew a few in each verse, filling in the parts he didn't know with humming.

OoOoO

Casey took out another guard, holding the man in a tight headlock. He'd tried desperately to ignore the interrogation he heard going on in his ear. It was bad enough to know about it happening to a teammate. It was even harder to bear witness to it. He could do nothing but continue with the plan, and he knew Billy knew he would be there as soon as possible. Things had been silent for a while apart from shuffling and a heavy thump. He could only conclude that Billy lost consciousness and they dumped him somewhere. He hoped.

Several minutes of silence stretched on unnervingly long. Casey took out another guard, silent as death in the shadows of the darkest night, but still, the growing disquieting feeling that Billy could be more than just unconscious was highly troubling and weighing on his conscience. If Billy died before he got there, he'd never forgive himself for being so slow on his end. But just as the guard was hitting the ground, he heard shuffling. Casey froze. There was a groan over the earwig and he exhaled, moving on.

Another guard went down, and Billy began humming. It was oddly distracting. He knew the Scot had some odd quirks, but this was the first time he'd heard the man resort to singing when things were this dangerous. But the words didn't fit the song. At least not what he remembered of the song.

"It's French!" He heard Rick over his other earpiece. "Casey, he's telling you where he is! He's uh… he's in the back of the complex… he assumes one of the farthest few rooms. It's a holding cell of some sort…" Rick paused, listening to more of the song. "Make sure to grab a keycard from one of the guards." There's another pause from Rick. "He's just repeating it, like a chorus, so it doesn't sound suspicious."

Casey finished off the last of the guards in the immediate area on the roof. "Thanks. Will do." He had to search three bodies before he found one with a keycard. The Human Weapon carefully bound each of the felled men with zip-ties to ensure they didn't rouse and cause trouble. "The roof's secure. I'm heading to take out the automated weapons, then I'm going after Billy. You guys on your way yet?"

"We're leaving now, Case. We'll meet you there in half an hour. Hang tight until then." It was Michael this time, who replied. Ah, their leader. Being the clear voice of reason once again.

"Not gonna happen. We both know the mission was altered when they called Billy out. He was supposed to be their valued volunteer consultant with trust built on mutual gain, not their prisoner. If I don't get to him soon, there may not be a _him_ to get to. At the very least, I'll draw their focus away from him for a while until you guys get here with the cavalry." Casey spoke as he jogged across the roof to the ladder that would take him back down the side of the building.

"Good luck." Michael replied without so much as a flustered beat of hesitation to his reply.

Casey stopped at the ladder and looked momentarily confounded. "You knew I'd say that." It wasn't a question or an accusation. It was a fact. This time there was a pause, and in that pause, he could clearly picture Michael Dorset's smug expression. He shook his head and slid down the ladder. "Casey out."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I'm glad everyone is enjoying it so far. I do hope this chapter doesn't kill that. **

By the time the guards came for him again, the Scot was unconscious. He was roused and dragged out of his little holding room. To the chagrin of the guards, they couldn't get Billy to hold his own weight. After a few brutal attempts to convince him to stand on his own two feet, they decided he wasn't just purposefully making things difficult for them. So, instead, they resorted to dragging him down the hallway.

He must have blacked out on the way through the halls, or maybe one of the guards had knocked him out, because the next thing he knew, he was waking to find himself bound to that chair again. Unlike the first, this time he could not only see his captor but his surroundings. They hadn't bothered to replace his blindfold. He took in the room. It was a spacious room, void of furnishings save a table and a few chairs. There were crude light fixtures hanging from the ceiling that appeared to have been haphazardly thrown together and jury-rigged into place. There were two windows off to his left. One of which was cracked clear from one side to the other. The second was boarded up to keep the sand out. He noted that the visible window was completely submerged in sand. They'd known half of the building was hidden under a mountain of sand, but it seemed it hadn't started completely that way. Not if the rooms further back were designed without windows, yet this room seemed to have become a casualty of the ever-shifting tides of sand.

"Señor Collins, why are jou really here?" The man's voice matched his first interrogator. A quick study of his face told Billy exactly what he needed to know. This was Andre Estrada. The man he was supposed to get to know so well and keep occupied with false information until the rest of his team and the military could storm the base and finally take this guy down.

"_He's former Cuban militia with ties to Soviet Russia back in the day. He's got a penchant for locating and capturing undercover operatives for information and a quick buck for their return."_ He remembered Casey saying.

"_But he never handles with care, and he's never sent an operative back alive, or in stable enough condition to survive."_ Michael had added

"Señor Collins…" Andre urged, waving to one of the men stationed at the door to come closer. The man walked up and kicked the leg of Billy's chair, jarring his body to get his attention.

"I came here t' give you information on British affairs—"

"I'm not interested in information that's nearly a decade old. I'm not interested in jour cover story. I am interested in the CIA." Andre's tone was smooth as silk, speaking as if they were dining together over expensive food, discussing a business deal.

"The CIA? Why would I have anythin' t' do with the CIA? I don' know if you've no'iced, bu' I'm no' exactly American, now am I, mate?" The retort had less indignation than he'd actually meant to put into his voice. This earned him a fist to his gut, courtesy of the brute to his right.

The Cuban held up a manila folder before flipping it open and holding up four files that he splayed out like cards. Billy could easily read four names and see four pictures. His blood ran cold, but he didn't show an inkling of recognition on his face. The names read, William Collins, Casey Malick, Michael Dorset, and Rick Martinez. When Billy shook his head and shrugged, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at, the man spoke up.

"Jou are still going to deny jour affiliation with the United States CIA and a team of spies jou work with closely?" His eyes narrowed on Billy, daring him to deny it again.

"Did you stop t' think tha' maybe I'm bein' se' up? I came here t' do business with you t' ge' back a' the agency tha' disgraced me!" Billy wasn't sure how much longer he could put up the angry front. As long as they were focused on him, they weren't focused on Casey and the team that should be infiltrating soon. So, putting up a convincing performance was key. However, he was also pushing his limit without water. During that rigorous trip across the desert left him sufficiently dehydrated. He was finding it difficult to do what came naturally to him.

Estrada stood from his chair silently, walked around the table to stare closely at Billy before brushing past him. He spoke something in Arabic to the guard and left the room. As the man approached him full on, Billy knew this would not be pleasant.

OoOoO

He wasn't sure how long he'd been kindly persuaded not to lie by Mister Muscles with no sense of humor, but when his polite reminder left him with several bruises, cuts, a split lip and possibly a few bruised ribs, the head honcho returned. The man was suddenly flashing a surveillance picture of himself with the rest of his team in what looked like the mission in France a few months ago, he winced. Well, this made things more difficult, didn't it?

Billy put on his best grin in his current state. "Now tha's a handsome devil." He drawled before his world went black in an explosion of pain. Unfortunately, he wasn't out long. They were dragging him out of the room once again, likely to return him to his cell, still without a drop of water to wet his lips.

In the back of his mind, Billy heard shuffling and soon found the floor greeting him in a warm, sandy embrace. When he finally managed to pry his eyes open, he took note that the two guards were on the ground and a third man was locking their wrists behind their backs with zip-ties. Then hands were on his arms and he found his wrists freed of their own restraints.

"Billy. Come back to me, Billy." He knew that voice.

Blue eyes fluttered open to meet Casey's face.

"'lo ma'e…" Billy slurred and tried to focus. He was disoriented and weak. Shaky. He felt Casey press a hand to his forehead and watched his expression turn grim.

"Michael, any way you can speed up your extraction?" He asked over the radio and looked down at the Scot with concern. He propped him against the wall and squatted next to him. Malick pulled one of the canteens off his belt and unscrewed the cap, handing it to Billy. "Drink slowly. Very slowly. Despite how badly you want to suck it all down, you need to sip and take your time or you'll just make yourself sick." He ordered sternly.

"We're moving as quickly as we can. What's your status?" Michael's voice chimed over the com.

"Billy's showing signs of severe dehydration. He's disoriented, weak, most notably, he's not sweating in this unforgiving heat. His forehead's bone dry." Casey examined the bruises coloring the Scotsman's face, looking over the few cuts where the hits broke the skin. "Blood loss will attribute to his dehydration and all I've got with me is water—Slowly, Billy!" Casey cut himself off and grabbed at Billy's wrist, tilting the canteen away from his mouth for a moment. After another moment, he jerked the earwig out of his ear and shoved it in his pocket. He didn't need Billy's wire echoing his own words back in his ear, and right now, he was too irritated to deal with it.

There was a long silence over the radio before finally Michael replied, "We'll see what we can do." Was his vague reply.

"Can you walk?" Casey asked, studying Billy's expression carefully.

"Y'mean you're actually givin' me a choice?" Billy slurred his words just a bit, looking up at the shorter operative with a lopsided grin.

"No." Casey stood, pulling Billy with him and pulled one of the Scot's arms over his shoulders, wrapping his other around Billy's waist. "I trust if I have to let go quickly to defend us, you will at least _try_ not to fall to the floor like a string puppet?"

"No promises." Billy groaned, earning him an annoyed grunt in reply from his companion.

It was nearly impossible to perform such a clumsy extraction flawlessly. Even with Casey heading said extraction. The biggest problem was the operative he was extracting. The man could hardly walk on his own and was quickly becoming dead weight. It wasn't entirely Billy's fault, Malick understood that. That didn't make it any less annoying to nearly carry the taller man through the halls in an enemy compound without much of anything to defend themselves.

"Billy, you have _got_ to help me." Casey insisted, giving the man a very mild shake in an attempt to rouse him. He knew it was more than dehydration. His electrolytes were low, a result of profuse perspiration. The man just didn't have the energy to put forth an effort.

"'m slowin' ya doon…" Billy's drawl was worsening, even with the fluids he drank. Casey stopped and turned Billy in his hold, pressing him up against the nearest wall for support. With his free hand, he sifted through his pockets until he found his flashlight.

"Look at me, Collins." Casey snapped, earning the desired result. When those glassy blue eyes were lifted to acknowledge him, he shined the light into one of them, then away. Billy didn't even flinch, but his pupil contracted and dilated as it should. He repeated with the other eye with the same outcome. That ruled out the little nagging concern he'd had when he spotted those head injuries. But it also made the situation that much graver. If Billy's dehydration or hypovolemia was severe enough that he was this far gone, simple oral hydration wasn't an option.

The sound of shoes grinding sand into concrete at a steady rhythm filled the hallway and Casey looked between Billy, the location of the sound, and the nearest door. "Stay put." He hissed as he lowered the Scot to the ground, propped against the wall. Immediately after, Casey disappeared through one of the doors and waited. They wouldn't shoot Billy, not as pathetic as he was right now, and that would be the perfect distraction he needed. He waited until he heard voices shouting orders in that foreign language before he threw the door open and ambushed the five guards, taking them out swiftly, before they even knew what hit them.

After zip-tying their wrists—he was beginning to run low on zip-tie handcuffs at this point—he returned to Collins' side and hefted him back to his feet. "You still with me?" But Billy's reply was obscured by an explosion. The building shook and the power cut. Last time they were briefed, he never recalled hearing anything about actually attacking the compound. Especially while there were friendlies inside!

"Casey, what's your status?" Michael's voice crackled through the radio mixed with static.

"What the hell was that?" Malick shot back.

"The Anti-aircraft system fired, Malick! You disabled the hydraulics, but they were still armed and tried to fire when we approached. Without the targeting mechanics, they backfired right down into the compound. You need to get out!"

"Working on it, but without power, that's a bit of a setback." Casey rolled his eyes and began lugging Billy forward again. Not that they would be able to get out. The first door they'd reach would be mechanically locked. And without power, they were stuck.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. The compound is crumbling. If another missile fires, it could either cave in on top of you, or your compartment will flood with sand and you'll suffocate."

Casey was silent, contemplating their situation. "Then don't come any closer in that helicopter of yours, Michael."

"We landed. It's the military you have to worry about. Their ETA is roughly ten minutes from now, and they won't stop for anything now that we've got the defenses down."

"Casey, go." Billy's voice nearly made the other operative jump. Well, nothing quite that severe. A slight lapse in concentration and the silence from the usually chatty operative allowed the man to temporarily forget one Billy Collins was still at his side. "I'll slow y' down, and it sounds t' me like time is of the essence. I'll hold the fort here. Come back for me when it's all said and done."

**TBC**

**AN: Thank you, Lena for catching my stupid mistake. I should not be allowed to write past four in the morning. xD  
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	4. Chapter 4

"Are you still talking?" Operative Malick asked almost darkly. The stunned expression on the Scot's face would have pierced a heart like Martinez's. "Because sitting here talking is wasting valuable time that I need to drag your sorry self through a building that's about to, in essence, self-destruct."

Billy just smiled weakly and nodded, pushing himself upright and trying to be less of a burden to his teammate. "I won' forge' this. Y'do care."

"I'm willing to bet you will forget this, Collins. You're hardly lucid." Casey waited until Billy was carefully standing on his own two feet, still propping him up with some support, before they began moving again.

There was another problem that came to mind. Though he'd taken out a devastating number of men around the compound, there were certainly still a handful about as well as their Cuban terrorist. The logical thing to do when a building was falling down around you would be to run to the exit. If the exit is blocked, you're stuck. So it was inevitable that, when they reach the exit, it will be swarmed with unfriendlies. However, it was not surprising that the distance to the exit was completely vacant. They were making fair time when Casey saw the dull glow of a flashlight flicker down a hall. Immediately he shut his own off and pulled Billy into the darker shadows. He slipped out from under the man's arm and made sure he was carefully leaned against the wall. Then Casey Malick slid down the length of the wall to peek around the corner into the new hallway. Sure enough, there were eight men and Estrada trying to get a door open. They needed to find another way around or wait for those men to blow the door down.

He returned to Billy's side, shaking his head. "I could take 'em if I really focused, but we don't have time." He whispered. "Nine men plus Andre Estrada."

"Malick, brace yourselves. The military chopper is inbound." Michael's voice crackled over the comm..

"Here!" Casey hissed, guiding himself and Billy into the nearest corner, then pushed him down into a squat. "Cover your head." He raised his own arms over his head and braced himself against Billy. Without an actual table or surface to tuck under, this was the best cover he could provide.

The next explosion did just as Michael had feared.

OoOoO

Michael and Rick watched as the roof exploded once again with the concussive blast of another missile. They could see the mound of sand draining down from the roof leaving a funnel-like dip in the side of the mound. He and Rick broke off at a run.

"Casey! Are you guys alright?" Michael barked over the radio, steering clear of the landing helicopters. Another explosion, as the third silo fired, caved more of the roof in. More sand was vanishing within the structure, but there was still silence over the radio. He and Rick shared a glance of concern as the silence stretched on. They sprinted right past the military, flooding out of the landing helicopters.

When they reached the outer door to the compound, they wasted no time as Michael pulled his pack of his back and unzipped it, holding out small cubes of C-4. "Rick,"

"Got it!" Rick was taking the explosives before Dorset could even tell him what to do. He was setting up the charges while Michael was threading the detonator. They took cover and blew the door just as seven men in military outfits approached. When the door blew off the hinges, sand spilled out, but not as much as one would have thought. They shined a light into the open hall and noted that there were four men, including Andre Estrada. The man seemed to have been knocked back in the blast, but all of them were alive. Guns were immediately pointed at the men inside. They were being apprehended when Michael noticed the door down the short hallway was shut.

"If jou're looking for jour man, he is dead." Estrada spat, jerking his head towards the door. Michael turned quickly and grabbed the man by the front of his jacket, jerking him out of the hands of the military officer holding him. The man grinned. "That room flooded with sand before we shut the door."

That explained the mere foot of sand in the locked hall. They got this door open just before that room could fill completely and sealed it off to save their own hides. Michael released him with a rough jerk, pushing him back into the marine's hands.

"We've gotta get this door open, Martinez—"

"If you detonate within the building, you risk a complete structural collapse." One of the marines cut in, casting him a glare that said he wasn't going to risk his men over that.

"I'm not leaving my men back there. They could still be alive!" Dorset's tone left little room for argument and the man shrugged.

Martinez set up the charges and they waited, ushering the marines and criminals out quickly.

"I don't have another remote detonator." Rick said frantically as he searched his pack.

"What?" Michael held up the flashlight to allow Rick both hands to search through the pack. Sure enough, there wasn't a single remote detonator amidst the mess.

"Wait." Martinez pulled out a conventional detonator, but the lead wasn't near long enough to use from outside the compound. "I'll—"

"No, you won't." Michael ordered, snatching the detonator from his hands and plugging it into the molded explosive. "Get out. Now."

"I'm not—"

"That's an order, Martinez! You're wasting valuable time in which Collins and Malick could be suffocating!"

Reluctantly, Rick turned and fled the room. The moment he was out, Mike triggered the detonator. Sand flooded the room as Michael ran to the open door where Rick was waiting. He was no help if he got buried under the torrent as well. But as the sand filled the doorway, it eventually stopped. Someone would have to dig at the crack of the door to coax more sand out of the room where their team was trapped. Rick and Michael wasted no time doing so but it wasn't enough. Sand just kept filling the doorway and blocking off more flow until Michael and Rick couldn't reach it anymore without getting buried themselves.

Michael hit the nearest solid object out of frustration. "Dammit!" He glanced down at his watch. It'd been nearly ten minutes. He closed his eyes tightly. Not even Casey could hold his breath that long under the conditions, he was sure of it.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

On the roof, the sand was still until Michael blew the door and more drained inside. However, when the last few gallons drained in, the roof could be seen. Finally, the open hole in the ceiling was visible, spilling light into the flooded room. Not long after that, a hand shot through the sand, latching onto the edge of the hole in the ceiling, pulling a body up. Casey Malick emerged with a cloth tied tightly over his face, obscuring his nose and mouth. He pulled himself up with one arm until he was positioned on the roof, dragging his other arm up with the second body attached. Able to use both hands, he dragged the unconscious Scot out of the sand and gently rested him on the ground. He too had a cloth tied around his face to keep the sand out of his nose and mouth, allowing him to breath just enough to keep him alive in that whole mess.

Casey knelt down and pulled the cloth away from Billy's face, immediately performing CPR when he realized the man wasn't breathing. It didn't take him long to get the Scot breathing again, to his relief. He dropped back into the sand and pulled out his radio.

"We're on the roof, Michael." His voice was gravely and rougher than usual from the strain of just surviving under all that sand and pulling himself and Billy to safety. "Billy's alive too." He dropped the radio to the sand and just breathed in deep, wonderful lungs full of air. He was completely content to just lie there until someone landed a plane on the roof to carry them home, but he knew better than that. He'd just rest for a moment and catch his breath before doing anything strenuous.

They'd been lucky. The minute sand started pouring in, Casey began taking out Estrada's men in the confusion, but the slippery bastard managed to get the door powered with a small portable generator just long enough to get it open. He'd slipped inside with his remaining men and resealed the door before too much sand made its way inside. The generator hadn't been designed to operate the mechanism, so it'd been hotwired together. It had been a stroke of luck on Estrada's part, because try as he might, Casey couldn't get it to trigger again. This left Casey with one option. The only other exit for them now happened to be the very means of their imminent death: the hole in the roof.

Carefully, he and Billy managed to stay above the sand, climbing it until they ran out of room to climb. He tore off one of his lengthy protective garments, stripped it into two sections and tied the first around Billy's face so the man wouldn't breathe in any sand, the second around his own. It would act as a filter. They could survive under a few gallons of sand, but had they not started climbing, they would've simply been crushed under the weight of it all. He did what he could to curl himself and Billy into a tight ball with another long garment of his clothing around them to form a pocket of air.

Casey had controlled his breathing, but he knew they wouldn't survive long on that small pocket of oxygen. Now it was all up to Michael and Rick to attempt a rescue. Without fail, the other two members of the ODS did just that. Casey had felt the sand shifting around him as it spilled into the other room. Just a little more and he was able to feel his way to the top and find that hole that would save their lives. He was just glad they were out now.

It wasn't until he heard the metallic click of a bullet being put into chamber that his eyes shot open. The bullet fired and the sound echoed through the ears of anyone in range.

OoOoO

A split-second glance was shared between the two other operatives of the team. They'd been helping the military clean up the rest of the men scattered about. Apparently the men Casey defeated on the roof fled down the side of the dune to get back to the ground before things got explosive up there. So no one died up top. Hearing that the other two members of their team were alive and well was a relief to them. But now, there was a mysterious gunshot from the roof and they acted on instinct.

Rick and Michael took off at a full run to the compound again, hitting the ladder and scaling it with ease to find three men on the ground. Casey was propped up on his elbows in the sand, holding his shoulder. Michael took note of the small amount of blood trickling between his fingers. The other two were entangled. Billy had his legs wound tightly around another man, pinning him down with his own body. He was wrenching the man's arms behind his back, binding them together with the last pair of zip-tie cuffs.

"Malick?" Michael questioned, making the man look up.

"Just a scratch." He replied, lifting his hand away from his shoulder. The bullet barely nicked the skin, nothing a bandage and some ointment wouldn't cover. "I still wanna know how the hell you did that." Casey's expression was a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and intrigue. "You couldn't walk through the hallway on your own, but you can take down someone trying to kill me?"

Billy rolled off the man and onto his back, panting heavily. "Adrenaline…" He muttered in a thick accent before his eyes fell closed and his consciousness slipped away again.

"Billy!" Martinez yelped, rushing to his side. He checked for a pulse and found one. Weak, but it was there. "He really needs medical attention." Almost as if on cue, they heard helicopter blades revving up. Michael ran to the edge and spotted the military transport getting ready to depart.

"Martinez, help Malick." Michael ordered as he slid an arm under Billy's body and hefted him up.

"I'm fine." Malick retorted, giving Rick the stink-eye, daring him to even attempt to touch him. "Help Dorset with Collins."

Rick paused and glanced at Michael. If the man didn't seem like he was struggling with Billy's near equal height, he wouldn't have humored Casey so readily. He slipped his body under Billy's other arm helping Michael support the man. They couldn't climb down the ladder with him, so they'd have to chance the sandy slope. It was a very slow process to remain surefooted on the shifting sand as they descended with extra weight on their shoulders while trying to sync their movements, but they managed without any hazardous fowl-ups. Rick slipped once or twice but managed to catch his footing before they fell to their doom. Or, at least, a painful tumble. Mike and Casey carefully secured Billy in the helicopter with Rick to watch over him then they boarded.

OoOoO

Billy had been given an IV to replenish his fluids and electrolytes as well as some much needed bed rest. The Scotsman had just changed out of that horridly revealing medical gown into a fresh change of clothes, in the process of being discharged, when he found the team in the waiting room.

"Och, would ya look at tha'!" Billy chirped happily, adjusting his vest, the coat was thrown over his arm carelessly. "Tha' is th' last time I agree t' work with British Intelligence on anythin'." The brunette grinned bright and sunny.

Michael smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. "Without them, we wouldn't have had the intel we needed to find Estrada." Michael halfheartedly defended, not that he really disagreed with the Scot.

"Aye, I guess you're right." The man conceded then shook his head a bit. "Does anyone wan' t' tell me why I woke up with sand in my unmentionables? What'd ya do t' me in there, Casey?" Billy's grin was bright still, but there was something off about it.

Casey narrowed his eyes, reading Billy's expression carefully before replying. "We took a bit of a swim in the desert." He spoke with mild hesitance to his tone. He wasn't buying it. Billy was putting on an act, and Casey didn't like it. But in a way, he was grateful at the same time. He watched as Michael and Rick clapped Billy on the shoulder and patted his back then the two left. Michael was Billy's ride home, but the man went to start the car, leaving Billy and Malick alone together. The Human Weapon gave Billy a piercing look to which the Scot shrugged, feigning innocence.

"So," Casey began.

"Yep." Billy replied, as if reading his mind.

"Everything?"

"Everythin'." Billy confirmed, looking far too pleased with himself.

"You know my secret. Now I have to kill you." Casey replied sardonically.

"After y' went through all that trouble t' save me?" Billy teased. "Don' worry. I'll nae tell a soul that Casey Malick is actually human with a beatin' hear' that cares for his colleagues."

"Good."

"Friends, even."

"You're pushing it, Collins."

**Fin**

**AN: Sorry that took so long. I just couldn't come up with actual CLOSURE. Half a page of goofy 'ending scene' unwinding took me what, a freaking week? Thanks to all who read and commented! **


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